


Enlighten

by micehell



Series: ROTJ retelling [2]
Category: Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-08
Updated: 2007-04-08
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:57:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She knows too well what it means.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enlighten

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote one piece of mostly harmless SW smut, my first piece in the SW universe that wasn't TPM, or at least prequel oriented. So far, so good. But I had known when I wrote it that there was an element of the story that was really farfetched -- well, there was probably more than one, but work with me here ;) -- and that was how much control Vader had. I just ignored it for the sake of the story, but then later, talking to someone on my journal, I got to wondering. Working on the basis that Han is Force sensitive -- something the movies actively encouraged, especially between ESB and ROTJ, because they were trying to keep people guessing over who the other 'last' hope might be -- then what if Vader could influence Han so much because they'd unintentionally formed a training bond, much like Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon do in the Jedi Apprentice books?
> 
> Now that thought wouldn't have been so bad, except, of course, it didn't end there, did it? Nooooo, because I'm stupid that way. ;) So without ever really meaning to, and even knowing there's almost no audience for this story, I've started writing what basically works out as a reworking of ROTJ, but with my own skew on it, because apparently I won't be happy until I've redone all of the movies in some twisted form. *sighs* I'm going to try to make these things kind of like stand-alones, so it won't be so much one story as a series of connected ones, but I don't know how that'll work out. Likely not for the best. *snicker* And just know there will be _badness_ in it, 'cause this is me. Which is a really long-winded way of introducing it, but there you go.

The throne room's dark, the lantern in the stairwell casting only a pale pool of light on its floor, painting a faint trace of silver on the edges of chairs and tables, like an intruder the shadows of the room fight to keep at bay. A small, slight shadow creeps forward among the others, soft treads barely a whisper as it makes its way towards the back wall of the room, where the prize hangs. The shadow slows, something hesitant, almost longing in its wavering steps, but then gathers speed as it ducks into a corner by the carbonite block. Black, gloved fingers shine briefly red as they press the button that brings the block down. It settles with a small clang, causing the shadow to hold it breath, sure of discovery, but its quiet again, still.

Deft fingers press against the inset controls before the shadow steps back. The carbonite glows, melting away, and all the shadows but one flee from the light. The one shadow is still there when the body falls from what had been a block of carbonite, it's face swollen and contorted from the process that put it there, from the hibernation sickness that's set the newly freed limbs to trembling. The body drops like the dead, lying still on the floor, making its savior swallow hard in fear. But a quick brush of fingers against the neck confirms the life that pulses within.

With her own hands trembling, the shadow pulls off her mask, skin that's pale with worry a small moon of reflected light from the small lights on the control. She knows it's unlikely he'll be able to see through the sickness, through the faint light, but she still hopes his first sight when he wakes will be her face. And she wants to see his face with her own eyes. It's a struggle to roll him over, the tall, lanky body far larger than her own, but she manages, pulling him into her lap as she tries to look past the swelling, past the pain, to see the face she's missed more than she ever thought possible.

She draws the face closer, so near her own, as if leaning in for a kiss, and lets out a gasp that's swallowed in the low rumble of laughter that fills the air. Jabba's bass chuckle grows as the lights flare, and he melodramatically throws the concealing curtain back, revealing his own bloated body, attended by a sycophantically giggling court, even the Gamorean guards' large frames shaking with Jabba's joke.

The man in her lap wakes, impeccable timing, and shaking hands blindly reach out, taking in the shape of his world by touch. He shies back from all the strange noises around him, from the stranger who holds him. His voice is rough as he asks, "What's going on? Who's there?"

Torn for a moment between fight or flight, but knowing she can't leave him, even considering the circumstances, she lays him back down, leaving him alone on the floor as she stands to face the danger at their backs. Jabba's talking now, low voice chuffing with his amusement, but she doesn't speak Huttese, and there's no translation until Jabba knocks C3PO forward, barking something guttural at him, the disgusted sound of it needing no interpretation.

C3PO's voice is a mix of nervousness and his normal officiousness as he stands before her, his head stiffly inclined in a bow. "Princess Leia, my master says that he's sorry to lose his favorite wall hanging, but he's sure that Captain Sol-- oh!" C3PO's eyes flash brighter for a moment, bringing the man the floor into clearer focus. "That's not Captain Solo!"

It's nothing that Leia hasn't already seen herself, but it sends another stab of pain through her heart to hear him say it. It's not Han, and she's terrified of what that means, but she doesn't have time to deal with it now.

Jabba's laugh has turned to anger, the loss of his prize, the loss of face, making him lash out violently at anyone nearby, shouting garbled orders to kill _someone_ , apparently anyone, for the insult. There's a babble of angry, confused voices filling the room that only grows, fear feeding it as blaster fire streaks around the room, destroying the last lingering traces of shadows along with the incautious. Some of the guards are actually trying to follow Jabba's orders, others trying to protect themselves, and no one, no one is safe. The man who isn't Han curls in on himself, hands drawn tightly around his head, but it's an inadequate shield against the shot that hits him, leaving brown, blank eyes open, forever blind now. Leia clenches her fists, regretting the loss of information he might have held, but she doesn't have long to mourn, ducking under a barrage of fire, finding cover and a weapon behind one of the fallen Gamoreans.

What might have been a stray shot hits Jabba, sending his body thrashing in its death throes, a last slap of tail taking out the strange little creature that had huddled into the protection of his bulk. There's a moment of stunned silence, then the chaos in the room becomes complete, the hanger-ons and wannabes that made up Jabba's court moving in to fill the vacuum left behind by the still twitching body.

There's the sound of rushing steps, someone coming closer, and Leia makes an awkward roll to try to avoid him, but thankfully she fails, and Lando grabs her arm, urging her to run even as he shouts at C3PO to, "Go, go, go!" R2D2 is rolling in front of them, his internal sensors giving them seconds' warning when anyone comes too close, the wistful beeps and whistles almost lost beneath the fading sound of blaster fire, the mournful howl growing in the distance. She doesn't know how, but Leia's sure that Chewie already knows what they found. Or rather who they didn't.

She also knows she should be the one leading, the one drawing them back to safety, but she can't, not yet. It takes all her control not to join in with Chewbacca, not to fall to the floor and scream out their loss. So she blindly follows Lando, ignoring the questioning concern she can feel from Luke on the other side of that thread that connects them, and she lets fall the tears that she's denied since she looked for Han's face and found only a stranger.

There's concern in Lando's eyes when he looks at her, and pity, and she can see his belief that Han is dead, but that's not what Leia's tears are for. He's not dead. He's not in carbonite. He's not here. And she knows too well what it means.

Vader.

/this bit


End file.
